


Odds 'n Ends

by Everlind



Series: Young Folks verse [9]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: After care, Anal Sex, Biting, Blindfolds, Bondage, Consensual Kink, F/F, F/M, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Humanstuck, Ladies in Sexy Lingerie, M/M, Oral Sex, Panty Kink, Public Sex, Sensory Deprivation, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-16
Updated: 2015-07-26
Packaged: 2018-01-12 16:48:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 10,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1192524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Everlind/pseuds/Everlind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vignettes set within the Young Folks verse, written in response to request memes on tumblr.<br/>Chapter title will feature pairing and rating.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. John, Karkat - PG

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was: (YF verse is go if you feel like it.) Johnkat at grocery store.  
> [Art](http://bluearturtle.tumblr.com/post/73557180232/yf-verse-is-go-if-you-feel-like-it-johnkat-at) for this by bluearturtle

Holy shit.

It’s like shopping with a six-year old on a slurpee high. 

“Put that back,” you snap at him, making an aborted kick in his direction. John skips out of range. “The world will not be a goddamn better place because you got to paint Hello Kitty’s face with your shit.”

“Maybe it’ll make my butt happier,” John points out, holding the toilet paper up and out of your reach. “Did you ever think of that?”

“I’ll make your butt happier, now put that back before I hork up a wad of rage phlegm and fling it in your direction. Say ‘aah’!”

“Oh my god, Karkat, not so loud!” John hisses, wrapping an arm around your head and smooshing your face into his armpit. Too late.

“Hem hem.” A scowling lady in an uniform. Fuck.

You get kicked out of the store.


	2. Kanaya, Rose - R

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was: hmmm, if you're making other pairings in your verse available, how about Kanaya thinking back to her first v-day with Rose?  
> (many thanks to[Valshenne](http://valshenne.tumblr.com) for the idea!)

“Kanaya!”

You look around and spot Karkat crammed into your usual boot, already lavishly covered in both cats and paper hearts. His laptop is open before him. It seems as though he was attempting to get some quick work done, but one of the cats is curled up on his keyboard. Karkat is staring at the feline in what can only be described as frustrated resignation.

Nodding at Meulin behind the counter you slide deftly between the wobbly little tables (also covered in cats and paper hearts and ever so often a couple making eyes at one another) towards him.

“Oh, you’re wearing the shirt I gave you for Christmas,” you remark, smoothing the fabric over his shoulder approvingly. Karkat grunts, face scrunching as though restraining himself from loudly proclaiming all the ways in which the garment offends him. He’s neglected to comb his hair for quite some time so you pat it down as much as you can before taking your place across of him. Instantly a cat leaps onto you lap. You try not to think of the unholy shedding currently taking place on your skirt. Oh, well.

You drape your vest neatly across the back of the chair and look at your best friend curiously. The dredges of his coffee slosh around erratically in the mug. He’s jiggling his leg under the table as well as drumming his fingers.

“Are you quite alright, Karkat?” you ask.

“Of course I am, why wouldn’t I be, there’s no reason at all for me to-“

“Karkitty!” Karkat disappears from view as Nepeta pounces on him.

“ _Hrk_!” he flails a little.

“Hello Nepeta,” you say.

“Happy Valentine’s Day!” Nepeta says, ruffling his hair affectionately and undoing your attempts to tame it.

“Yeah, yeah, what the fuck ever,” he’s giving her an one-armed hug in response however.

“Hi Kanaya! Oh. Does that mean John’s-“

“In Seattle,” Karkat mutters. “He’s not going to hop a goddamn plane just for Valentine’s day obviously.”

“Is that why you are so on edge?” you point out.

“I’m not on edge,” Karkat snaps. “Where’d you get that idea?”

You nod towards the coffee mug vibrating towards the edge of the table. “I find myself rather inclined to presume you are somewhat cross with him.”

Karkat glares at it, but stops jiggling. Slumps down in his chair instead.

“You’d be presuming really fucking wrong,” he says. “He was just here in January for a week. I’m not unreasonable.”

“Rrrriight,” Nepeta goes, lips curling. “Do you want something to drink, something fur lunch?”

“Tea and the usual,” you say. “Karkat as well.”

“But,” Karkat goes, frowning. “Coffee.”

“No,” you say. “You’re worked up quite enough already. Get him something soothing.”

“Oh my fucking god,” Karkat groans as Nepeta slinks away. “Kanaya, I’m fine.”

“Then why are you so nervous?” 

“I’m not-“

You raise an eyebrow.

“Fuck, whatever, okay,” he throws up both hands theatrically before crossing his arms over his chest defensively. Karkat’s always had an inclination to talk with his whole body. “John told me he’s got “ -unwraps his arms to make sarcastic air quotes- ”something planned. Something that can be done over Skype.”

“Oh.”

“Exactly,” he growls. “It’s either going to be painfully horrible and I will promptly expire from sheer humiliation-induced rage or completely wonderful in a backwards sort of way. The little shithead has no concept of romance.”

“He seems to be doing quite well, all things considered,” you point out gesturing at his person with a wave of your hand.

Karkat levels you a look. “Clearly, you have no idea what sort of bullshit he comes up with on an everyday basis. Lucky for him it tends to work to his benefit. Accidentally.”

The tea arrives. Karkat glowers at it dismally. He’s got his index pressed against the left side of his bottom lip thoughtfully, eyes narrowed as he stares at his cup.

“Stop worrying so much,” you tell him tapping the tip of your boot against his shin under the table.

He starts, rubs a hand across his face as though attempting to erase his expression. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I’m ruining our thing.”

“Date.” The two of you have gotten together at Meulin’s Cat Café on Valentine’s for years now.

“Sure, whatever,” he agrees, dumping a preposterous amount of sugar into his tea. “So.”

“Hmm?” you go obligingly, sipping. 

“How was your first Valentine’s with Rose?” he asks.

Oh.

You clear your throat and put down the cup. “Well.” Karkat raises both brows questioningly in turn. The corner of his mouth twitches. It is likely you are blushing. “Rose is rather of the opinion that Valentine’s is a vapid marketing stunt. Which is why-“

“You are stuck here with me,” Karkat interrupts.

“Yes, but also because you are my best friend and we’ve done this often enough it is tradition. And I value it immensely. That aside, however— it went rather like this.”

_You’d admit to being rather disappointed, if anybody were there to listen. However you are currently alone in the living room, Rose having drifted off to the study with her notes and laptop under her arm, intent to catch up on her straggling word count. It is not that you do not agree with her. Obviously you are aware that Valentine’s is nothing so much more as an elaborate marketing stunt and that clearly not all effort to bring some romance into a relationship ought to hinge on a single day in a whole year. Of course you know. But, well. It would have been nice to do something together. As both of you are available._

_Maybe you should just tell her this. Rose is anything if not attentive towards your needs and opinions. Nor is it your intention to usurp the whole of her free time. Dinner together, perhaps? Theatre after. That would be lovely. Communication is key, Karkat says (if only he’d take his own advice)._

_Alright then. You stand up and head towards the study._

_“Rose,” you call out, pushing the door open gently. “Do you have a moooo——“_

_Oh._

_Oh wow._

_Or, rather make that: oh holy fucking shit._

_Rose bursts out in delighted laughter. You said that out loud, didn’t you? Well then._

_“Even though you ruined my surprise I think I’ll still consider this a success,” she says, smiling at you._

_Rose._

_Your Rose._

_In what you can only describe as a set of utterly gorgeous, sinfully sexy lingerie. A black lacy longline plunge bra, dark enough as not to be sheer, but delicate enough you can see her nipples shadowed through nonetheless. Matching French knickers with a sexy side-split detail. A suspender belt, curving along her waist right below the shallow dip of her bellybutton. Her soft thighs clad in stockings. Even as you stare on she steps into elegant black heels. It adds sway to her walk as she comes towards you, predatory, still smiling. She’s a contrast of delicate white skin covered barely in black lace. Her breasts are framed to perfection, full and modest and exactly, perfectly right for you to cup hands over._

_Rose stops just out of arms’ reach, chin tilted up to look you in the eyes. Her neck is underscored by the line of her collarbone, still advertising the mark you left the barely a day ago. You can tell her nipples are hard and pushing against the fabric._

_“I take it you like it?” she goes. Angles her head so a lock of white blonde slides into her face._

_Your hands itch to brush it into place, ruin her hair completely, let it rest there._

_“Quite,” you manage. Lick your lips._

_“Are you just going to watch?”_

_“No,” you blurt, then cough to cover up the sudden hunger that spilled forth in that single word._

_“We are in the study,” Rose points out._

_“I- ah. Yes?”_

_“There’s a desk,” Rose adds._

_“Oh.”_

_“Hmmm-hm,” Rose nods._

_You think you move. There’s most definitely a desk. Rose swipes with one careless arm all the notes from her novel towards the floor. They erupt in a cloud of fluttering papers, like a flock of doves taking flight. Her legs part around your waist, her chin goes back and she’s laughing, soft and deep, her hot breath washing over your ear and her clever hands slipping up your top to get at your skin. Even through your clothes you can feel the needy heat at the crest of her legs as her hips rise hungrily towards yours._

“and then we—“ 

“Fucked, yes, I got that part,” Karkat interjects hastily. “Say no more.”

You smile at him from over the rim of your cup.

“Holy shit,” he goes, shaking his head.

He looks so flustered you decide not to tell him that it this has become a tradition, too.

 

Oh, well. His loss.


	3. John, Karkat - Explicit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was: can we hear more about Karkat's thing for being tied up?

Everything seems more.

You can’t see. Both your arms are up and over your head, shackled to a rung in the headboard. The handcuffs are solid, lined with soft, fuzzy fabric. You tried pulling and while the damn things are supple, they’re definitely made to restrain. No light leaks through the blindfold.

Your skin tingles and your heart pumps frantically inside your chest. Air whistles in and out your lungs, too fast, too shallow. Your head spins. Can’t remember whether it is day or night. God, your cock aches. 

It’s not cold, you’re sweating, but you still find yourself trembling.

The door creaks and you startle so badly the jolt of your body rocks the whole bed. 

“John?” 

Nothing. Your voice sounds like sandpaper. The not knowing sends a spike of absolute fear running through you and you lurch in your cuffs. “ _John_!”

“I’m here,” he says. He’s walking towards you and, fuck, you can tell it’s him by the sound, the pace of his footfalls. When did you learn what his footsteps sound like? 

You exhale and it’s shaky, thready. God, fuck.

“Hey,” he murmurs. Fingers settle against your cheek, gently. “Hey, I got you.”

He does. He has no goddamn clue how much he’s got you. You’re turned on beyond belief and scared and you have never, ever let anybody else do this to you. You’ve been tied up. That’s how you know you like it. But it had always been sort of casual. Silly and sweet and sexy, yeah. Someone’s tie, a soft scarf, even a shirt -something like that. Looped around your wrists and secured around something. Could’ve pulled free, if you wanted.

Can’t, now. You’d break something trying. And he’s blinded you.

Completely at his mercy. Fuck,  _fuck_.

Lips against your forehead, fingers dragging your curls away from your face. He’s near you and you can taste him on the air, as though his essence bleeds into the small space between you and him. John, that scent that is the best damn thing in the whole fucking world and if you part your mouth you can feel it on the back of your tongue. Then he pulls away and you can feel a cool breeze follow his wake, rushing along your flushed face.

Sheets rustle and the mattress dips under his weight when John gets on the bed with you. Settles into your lap, right over where you’re hard and wanting for him. He’s still wearing his jeans.

The noise you make is completely involuntarily, a startled indrawn  _haaaaa_  at the unholy amount of friction and the sudden reality of him and it’s too much, you can’t handle it and your hips arch up and off the bed hard and sudden -enough to actually lift his whole weight for a moment, before going slack.

“Whoa,” John goes, awed. Shifts to lie down on you, chest-to-chest. Fabric keeps your skin from his and you whine softly. John kisses your nose playfully. And if you weren’t stuck in this out-of-body state you’d lift a knee and kick him for that. You think he knows you would. There’s —noises, lips and weirdass alterations in his exhales and he’s not coming any closer and. that. little. _fucker_.

“Are you making faces at me?” Talking. Shit, wow yes. Achievement unlocked. 

Stuttery huff of air against your mouth. He’s snickering. “I wouldn’t dare,” he singsongs.

“I’m going to kick your smug prankster ass, asswipe. You’ll have to squirt shit out of your nose.”

“That’s nice, buddy,” he answers. Flicks your forehead in retaliation. “You know what? Maybe I’ll just get up and leave you.”

And that— yeah. You effectively stop breathing. He won’t. he won’t he won’t he  _wouldn’t_. Your heart thunders throughs your body, blood heating up unbearably. Your lips part, but there’s no sound, no nothing. 

“That’s what I thought,” John hisses, viciously, and then he kisses you. 

The contact is sweet, soft, a brush of his lips along yours, allowing them to part until they catch hold. Oxygen rushes back into your lungs, like he gave you a kiss of life and you sob softly into his mouth. Fingertips at your jaw as he begins to work at your mouth, heavy deep kisses moving towards something moist and hot and close, the sort you can hear as lips disconnect and glide and caress. Suddenly you are absolutely sure you’re going physically break apart at the seams of your very existence if you can’t hold on to him. It’s too raw, too intense and you fucking can’t, can’t can’t can’t touch him.

John makes a shushing sound at you, between the kisses, but his mouth is shaking against yours.

“Please.” There’s no sound to the word, but the crest of your lips draws the meaning of it onto John’s. You are terrified of this and you’ve wanted nothing more.

A moment where he exhales, hard and then a quick glance of contact across your mouth, leaving your heart writhing in your chest. He sits up, weight shifting to sit unabashedly onto your cock again. A soft undulation as he moves, not necessarily meant to be sexual, but his muscles do a long left-right somewhere within his torso and it travels right down so hips mimic the movement.

The scent of him becomes almost heady, cloth rustles. He’s taken off his shirt.

You groan, wishing desperately you could see, press your face against his chest and open your mouth to taste.

Fucking damn it this is the worst damn idea ever you’re going to fucking die if he doesn’t touch your stupid dick soon, if you don’t get to touch him, finally look at him sitting there like the smug little bastard he is, right in your goddamn lap on top of your cock with his motherfucking pants still on.

But then he takes those off, too, leaving you bereft for a moment, fingers clenching and unfurling mindlessly at the loss. Crawls back on top of you and the heat of his groin nearly undoes you. John leans over you and his skin whispering across yours is gorgeous. Fingers catching into your hair, lips at the hollow behind your jawbone, hot and wet, then skating down openmouthed and lingering, hot like a brand and hungry, sharp, teeth glimpsing against your pulse. Your chin goes up, your head pushing into the cup of his hand where it’s tangled in your hair, offering your throat. John nips, suckles and then seals over the flutter of your heart.

It’s a jolt of pain, delicious and harsh, and you pant for air as his body gives a soft rock against the length of yours.

Your back arches and you let out a ragged noise. John echoes you. It rumbles in his chest and shudders into you, travelling down your bones.

John’s mouth goes down to kiss your clavicle, your chest, locks lips around your nipple, pulling it into the heat of his mouth and you shake despite yourself. Further, your stomach, nosing at the trail of hair under your navel, before dipping his chin down to run the flat of his tongue along your cock.

Your back hollows, your breath goes backwards.

He licks at you, slow and steady, but sloppy, suckling at the head of your dick where you’re wet with need, but always just his tongue.

You’re noisy as hell, doing this horribly loud continuous shout and it’s only when he drapes himself over you, stretched out on top and heavy and yours, your thighs spreading around his hips that you shut up for a moment.

And then he begins to rock for real. It’s maddening, because you can’t use your hands to help your cocks to align and he doesn’t seem to give a shit, just rolling his hips down into yours. You hook an ankle over his calf and arch for him, your lips slack and parted with John breathing down into your mouth. Fingers tickle up the soft underside of your arms to lace with yours, caught int the cuffs. You hang on for dear life. You’ve no idea what you ever did to deserve this, John rewriting your self with his skin onto yours and he keeps going faster, keeps going harder, hips relentlessly pistoning and his mouth jostles against yours when he tries to kiss you, suck your bottom lip into your mouth, licks his tongue into your mouth, shameless and hungry, like he wants to crawl inside and curl up next to your heart.

He’s got you.

The muscles in your stomach tense up, clench hard, and the heavy crawling need tightens, a low, primal tug you can feel behind your eyes.

You cry out and curl up —the shackles rattle against the rail and bring you up short, but there’s hands cradling you, preventing you from falling back and your shoulders scream in protest even as the first pulse of your orgasm wracks you. John’s still against your lips, parting his own along to swallow the sound. It’s hot and thick and you keep shuddering as John fucks against you through the aftershocks, three, maybe four times, before you feel his dick throb against yours right before he orgasms.

You’re gasping for air, still half-upright with your arms at an extreme angle, John moaning softly into your hair as his hips slow down to a steady sway.

You’re exhausted. He fucking ruined you. You can’t stop shivering. John lowers you -there’s a disgusting wet noise as moist slickness between your bellies disconnects.

Again, lips against your forehead. You are shivering, but not cold. You can’t remember how to breathe.

John unshackles you, undoes the cuffs. Rubs your hands between his and settles them along your side. Takes off the blindfold.

The room is hazy shadows and you still flinch. There’s a noise of reassurance and then arms are gathering you close, easing you onto your side. There’s wet tracks on your face -when did that happen?- can’t remember, John just- his thumbs wipe them dry in gentle arcs even as he covers your face with kisses -the contact plants bright flowers of awareness on your floating mind.

“You were wonderful,” he whispers and you vaguely realize he’s gone all young and worried, but is doing his best to stay steady for you by parroting words he only ever heard from you first. That’s okay, it’s more than fucking okay, and you pull him closer and press your face into his chest. He keeps raining kisses on your face, clumsy and featherlight and gentle.

“I’m fine, you idiot,” you tell him, before he does a majestic pirouette of the handle and implodes with worry. This was a first time for him, too. You turn your head to kiss his fingers, hitch him closer and run a warm hand along the curve of his spine.

John’s fingers doodle across your heated skin, spelling out words and shapes. His heart is finally slowing down, as is yours, but your skin is doing this really strange humming, like you’ve just learned to feel all over again. Everything seems a bit disconnected, unreal and somehow too real. John’s familiar, so that’s where you stay.

Maybe you doze, maybe you just lose track of time, it doesn’t really matter. But suddenly your shoulders flood with this dull throbbing ache, holy freaking ouch you had to go and and fucking yank at them, didn’t you? Shit.

But. You’re back. You feel.

Good.

Hm.

“So,” you say, as casual as you can with a voice screamed hoarse from sex. “When do I get to tie you up?”

John splutters, coughs. “I’ll go get a washcloth,” he says, rolls towards the edge and stands up. Not. He sinks like a pudding to the floor, legs too weak to hold. Splat, puddle of John on the floor. “Ouch,” he goes, almost dryly.

“If you just got cum on the floor, you better find a dress and transform into motherfucking cinderella stat because you better think fucking twice if you think I’m okay with having a jizz stain on the middle of my bedroom.”

“I think I died,” John mutters.

“You’re fine, you pansy. You weren’t the moron who got tied up, remember?” you point out.

There’s a grumble and then he gets up shakily, walks weaving out of the room as though drunk. Right.

Next time, it’s his turn.


	4. Dave, Jade - R

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was: Hey you know what pairing is in Young Folks? DaveJade. You know what Dave should wear for Jade for V-day? Panties. Ironically, of course, and not because his adorable girlfriend asked, or because Dave kind of likes it. XD Bonus if he does this via video chat and does a sexy dance for her that is more hilarious than sexy.  
> In case you need visual aid imagining [Dave's sick dance moves.](http://inquiringcharlie.tumblr.com/post/64742110721/there-are-only-two-people-on-this-earth-that-make)

“Aint I just a pretty princess?” you mutter to yourself as you yank the gauzy piece of fabric up and over your ass.

Shit. Your cock hangs out and you’ve no idea what’s going on with your balls, even. When you try to shove your porksword back in your left testicle pops out over the edge. The seam chafes like a son of a bitch. Seems like big Dick and the twins can’t be contained. Nope.

“You should take off your socks, dummy.”

You jump about a mile. Your lap rocket seizes the opportunity to make another bid for freedom. Goes flop over the edge. Dangles a little.

Hot.

“Harley, I said no peeking,” you tell Jade. Sternly. Most certainly without blushing. That’s not a thing that ever happens to you. Chiller than a bottle of AJ fresh out of the fridge, it’s you. Didn’t you angle that webcam down?

“Oh, relax,” she says. “The only thing I can see are your skinny legs and your dirty socks. Your room’s a mess, Dave. Geez. I think that bag of Cheetos there is about to achieve sentient life.”

“Yours is worse,” you shoot back. Demanding, demanding. Nobody appreciates you. Seriously. Here you are, on motherfucking Valentine’s day, trying to shove Mr. Happy into a pair of panties for your crazy girlfriend. Mr. Happy looks more like Mr. Squishy all bundled up like that, poor dude. “It doesn’t fit.”

“Sure it does,” Jade says cheerfully.

You sigh and set to trying to cram your trouser snake into a pair of panties. Okay, so. Truth? The fabric does feel nice. It’s gauzy and practically transparent and slides across your junk rather interestingly. Whoa, wait, no. Down boy. Goosfraba. That’s it.

Okay, you think this is the best it’s gonna get. Shit. You forgot your socks. Well, fuck that. If you so much as lean over everything is going to fall out again. Instead you lock your knees and inch awkwardly towards your desk chair. Sit down.

“You ready, Harley?” you ask, wriggling so everything’s settled.

“Born ready,” Jade replies.

“Aint that the truth,” you mutter and angle the camera so it’s fixed on you.

And there’s Jade, her wonderful face bright and cheerful in the middle your screen. And you just -that’s your girlfriend. Your. Girlfriend. Man. Wow. What a babe. You are one lucky dog. It’s you. And, aw fuck, she’s dressed in a oversized t-shirt that’s simply huge on her (one of John’s, you think). It slips down over a shoulder. No strap. No bra. Hello nipples, aren’t we perky today?

“Hello Dave Junior,” Jade says, grinning in delight.

“Told you it didn’t fit.”

“Oh, it’s fine,” she says, mouth twisting all sly coy. “Just  _fine_.”

“How fine?”

“Hella.”

“That’s a lot of fine,” you answer approvingly. Okay, so, maybe you smile a little. Jade most certainly is, but her bright eyes skip up your body intently. You like her looking. You like that she likes looking at you. You like that she likes that you like her looking at you. There’s a whole lot of liking going on.

Your dick is all about the liking, too.

Those panties are getting really tight. You shift, feel your cock settle along your hip, fight against the elastic at your waist. It’s both uncomfortable and weirdly pleasant as the gauze grates along your sensitive skin. It’s all you’re wearing, but suddenly you feel stifled and itchy and oddly stripped bare. Jade’s stroking the knuckle of her index along her lips. She doesn’t say anything.

This is all for her.

When Jade looks at you like that, shit, you can take on the world. You’re hers. You belong and you know she’s thinking about the taste of your skin just by the way she trails her gaze down your chest. The intensity of her gaze is almost physical, you can feel your body prickle out of sheer need where her eyes pass. Goose bumps, hard nipples. Your dick aches. Fuck.

God, you miss her. 

You want her in your arms, on top of you, black hair spilling down and licking tickles over your skin as she rocks on your dick, keeping you pinned down so the only thing you can do is lie there and take it, feel the lovely smooth heat of her around you and over you and inside of you.

“Stand up for me, Dave?” she asks, voice hushed.

You do. Hard as you are, your dick stays put (more or less), the rest kinda slips out. Welp. Pretty sure most of the fabric is riding up your crack, too. You shift from one foot to the other.

Jade doesn’t say anything about your socks. Just watches you, your face, your mouth, your chest and slowly downwards over your belly. Your cock, the way you’re starting to poke out from under the waistband, the damp spot.

“Wish I could touch you,” she sighs. 

“Yeah,” you agree. She can’t. She’s in Seattle. So, instead, it’s up to you. You lick your lips, trail fingers up over your thigh.

“Nu-huh!” Jade scolds. “If I don’t get to touch, you don’t get to touch.”

_what_

Okay, worlds of no, you’re going to bust a nut if you don’t get off soon. “Whoa, hey, Jade-“

“No touching!” Jade barks and you shrink into your shoulders reflexively. Your dick jumps. 

 _Hngggdammitjade_. 

“Hm,” she hums, tapping a finger against her chin contemplatively. “I’ve an idea!”

This can’t be good.

The feed cuts Jade’s face in half as she leans closer to fiddle with something on her desktop. And then Beyonce blasts over the stereo.

Aw hell no.

“Dance for me?” she suggests.

And that’s how, about two minutes later, you are doing a full body roll, with Jade in hysterics at the other side and you cracking up as well (your Strider Pride can’t be contained -no, seriously, it’s all over the place). Both of you are laughing and Jade is clutching her belly, but she’s still watching and you are still turned on.

“Woo! Take it all off baby!” she calls, fist pumping the air and throwing a crumpled dollar bill she found in a pocket at you. It bounces against the screen.

“Yes ma’m,” you nod and you’ve just hooked your thumbs under the edge of the panties when John walks in.

“Jade, I really need that webcam noOOOOOOAAAA OH MY GOD!” He reels back, trips over something and disappears from view with a heavy thud. Garbling noises offscreen.

“Hi John,” Jade says. “Please knock next time.”

There’s some senseless blubbering and  _why? Whyyyy? Dave I thought you were my bro whyyyyy?_ Something rolls over the floor towards the door. It slams shut.

“Bye John,” you add.

“Whoops,” Jade says.

“Betcha he’s gonna knock next time.”

“He better,” Jade growls, rolling her eyes. “Where were we?”

The show must go on. And it is  _so on_.


	5. John, Karkat - Explicit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was: johnkat making sweet, romantic valentines day love after a date :DDDDDD???
> 
> I, er, added a twist?

Okay, so it’s not like you expected your first Valentine’s day with John actually in  _here_ , in person, physically with you (rejoice! huzzah! final-fucking-ly) to be some sort of romantic revelation. As much as you adore romantic drivel, even Valentine’s day has rather crossed a line and landed into a sickly sweet sloppy puddle ‘what is this we don’t even know’. He’s here and that’s more than enough.

What you could have done without, however, is the whole fucking Shakespearean bacterial tragedy taking place in your throat. You have no idea where the snot keeps coming from. John, apparently, does know for some reason and tries to explain this to you at great length with disgusting enthusiasm and an unnecessary amount of arm waving until you get up and leave. Because  _you know what, John? I don’t care_.

You just want it to stop.

You’re cold, you’re oversensitive, you’re dribbling mucus all over the fucking place and you’ve banged your goddamn head into the blaring screen of a pinball machine at the arcade while sneezing.

And you know what? You’re horny as fuck. You’ve no idea how that works, but there it is.

It’s raining and you’re shivering and thinking of ways to turn the fuck around and go home so you can get on John’s dick when the latter says: “So what d’you wanna do now?”

You open your mouth— and cough. Sniffle. Okay, so, not very smooth, granted. What the fuck ever. Grab the lapels of his jacket and rise to the tips of your toes. “You,” you answer against his mouth. And then you have to turn your head so you don’t fucking hack out a what amounts to a viral strike into his face. 

Goddammit.

“Uuuuh,” John goes. “Yeah, okay, we’ll see about that.”

But you go home! Woo! In the car, however, you sneeze so hard you head ricochets into the dashboard. Thank fuck John’s driving. This is terrible. You’re going to fucking die, you just know it.

“You’re not going to die, geez,” John tells you.

You’d fucking yell at him, because what does he even know anyway? Healthy little shitnugget that he is. Problem being is that when you want to yell, your voice goes ‘hell no’ in the middle of your tirade and fucks the hell off. Is not heard of again for at least ten minutes after, either. Which everybody -especially John- finds hilarious, of course (what was that, Karkat? Can’t hear you buddy, please repeat that for me?).

So, yeah, that fucking sucks.

But home. Yessss.

Bedroom. Yessss.

You shove John onto your bed and climb into his lap. He’s not hard and neither are you, really, but he’s warm and windswept and damp from the rain, still wearing his scarf and jacket with his glasses askew and fogged on his dumb, perfect face. God.

Likely your mouth tastes like shit and the way you’re leaning over means you have to hork up snot in the most hideous way ever. Fuck, there’s lampposts covered in dog piss right outside the fucking window that are more sensual than you are, but John only chuckles and kisses you back, sliding both hands into your hair and cradling your head, playing lips and tongues and exhales together, kissing until you taste the same.

You’re clumsy and disoriented and a little too impatient for this, can only pant hot and needy against the edge of his jaw as your roll hips down into him.

“Slow down,” John breathes, grabbing your waist.

“Make me,” you snarl back and he goes wide-eyed and pliant under you.

That’s better.

His belly hollows when you slide your hands under his shirt ( _cold!_ ). He hisses in a sharp breath, back arching up as you push them up towards his chest, bunching fabric into a thick wad under his chin. Jumps when you open your mouth at the highest point you just bared, right underneath his left nipple, which hardens in anticipation of your attention. Groans when you suck at it, trembles when you scape your teeth over the tight nub -little sensitive jolts that strike through him, so fucking wonderful you can feel the tug of pleasure yourself, low in your dick-, hands grip your hair when you draw back to just lick at it, broad and wet, before kissing it goodbye and moving towards the other, mouthing at it. Fingers fist in your hair and keep your mouth against his chest.

“God, Karkat, fuck,” John moans softly, body going long and ready, his hand relaxes, lets you come up for a kiss, bruised and hungry as he licks up between your lips, warm and flush in your mouth as you suckle at his tongue gently. 

You nod, pull away to fumble stupidly around in a drawer until you find the box of condoms. “That’s right,” you mumble.

There’s not enough patience in you to get your clothes off properly, so you shed just your pants and zip open John’s, smiling wryly at the crackle of his windbreaker as he scrabbles at you when you palm his dick. Hard now, hell yes. Slick at the head, too, you drag your thumb through it languidly, watch the air stutter out of John’s body through his kiss-swollen lips, the flutter of his lashes over his eyes.

A soft whine escapes him as you lick the rest of it off your finger while you settle down low over him. John holds your head close, tucked against the unholy amount of clothes piled up under his armpits and the jut of his chin as you work yourself open. Awkward, weird position, but John’s working both your dicks in between your stomachs with those gorgeous, dextrous fingers wrapped around you both. There’s an unholy amount of precum going on there, your fault, but it makes everything slick and shivery and you are making low-pitched, repetitive moans into his neck every time he brushes the head of your cock and fuck fuck fuck if he’s not careful you’ll just shoot your load right there, you’re too sensitive and worked up to take much and you need to get on his dick now.

Back off, pant for air. John’s fingers keep glancing across your dick teasingly. “Don’t, don’t, don’t, John, please don’t,” you plead, but he just grins, slipping the tip of a finger over the slit at the head, smearing more wetness back over you. 

Fine. Condom. Roll it down his wonderful cock and your own jumps in anticipation of sinking down on it. You kneel over him, one hand planted on his chest. He’s flushed with it, black hair all over the place, but his hands settle at your hips, thumbs smoothing over the v of muscle trailing down to your groin. 

You think you’re ready, don’t care if you’re not, you’re ready to scream because you want him so damn bad. The lube pretty much goes everywhere, cool and slippery dribbling down your taint as you move down over him. The heavy ridge at the head breaches you and your mouth falls open. Under you John gasps noiselessly. 

Pause. Exhale.

“Karkat,” John manages and he’s looking up at you with his brows pinched together, like he’s seeing you for the first time. Holds you at your waist with just the tips of his fingers.

Lower yourself slowly, it’s been a while, and he feels heavy and warm and good. Your thighs strain, John’s breathing harshly, trying to stay still. Finally he’s fully seated inside of you and you just sit in his lap for a moment like the stupid tool you are, trying to get you bearings.

John moves a hand, plucks at the fabric draped over your dick. It makes a ridiculous tent. “Your dumb sweater is in the way,” he grits out.

You huff out a laugh, curl forward and pull off your sweater and shirt in one go. John goes  _hng_ , under you when he slips in even deeper and it makes you laugh harder.

“Don’t laugh, oh fuck, Karkat don’t laugh, no stop,  _stop oh god_!”

You don’t. He frowns, mouth open in pained pleasure, grabs your hips and rocks up into you. You stop laughing and start moaning. You’re naked and John’s still dressed and the girth of him dragging in and out of you is too good, too much, unyielding and hot and a little bit painful, but, fuck, fuck, you forgot how  _good_  it was. You sway in his lap, chin dipping towards your chest and hair tangled in your eyes and lips parted. Your heart is in your head, behind your eyes and you’re burning.

John braces himself on an elbow to touch fingers to your cheek. “Th-think you got a fever,” he says, voice stuttering as you grind tight little circles against him. That would explain the burning, shit, stupid germs.

“Does it look like I give a fuck?”

“Uh, well,” John’s lips make a shaky curve. “You kinda are.”

Touché.

You tilt your pelvis, get a better angle, and start moving up and down in long steady waves, hissing at the feel of his cock sliding in and out. John reaches with his whole hand for your face, gets the other on a buttcheek to spread you wider. Lean towards him, kiss his mouth, go down still kissing when he drags you back with him.

You rock yourself towards completion like that, John canting his hips to meet you and faces pressed together. John’s murmuring your name, fingers cupped around your right ear, the other helping you move. You try to breathe and fail, annoyed that towards the end your inhales rattle wetly with phlegm and you get lightheaded, but you feel so fucking good and alive and your skin sings where John touches you.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop-“ you pant at him, voice cracking miserably and pressing your face into his.

John hums and licks across your lips, winds fingers around your dick and you come just like that, crying like he fucking levelled a gun at you and pulled the trigger. He might as well have. Your orgasms sweeps through in a wave that floods all your senses and John keeps you going by grabbing your hips and fucking you hard through the aftershocks, drawing out pathetic little sobs until you’re wrung out.

Everything goes soft and hazy like a dream, you trying to get air, hating how you sound. Disgusting whining whistles of air going in and out of you. Your face pounds with heat and John lies underneath you, lit up with desire. You reach down and swipe the pad of your thumb over his wet lips. He makes a small, hitching sound and his shudders hard, fingers bruising you where he clutches at you. 

Fuck, John is beautiful when he comes. You sit and watch the line of his neck, that impossible glow that suffuses him, bright and alive. His eyes on you from under the fringe of his lashes.

Breathing is a problem, the rattle becomes unbearable and John’s barely coming down out of his high, dick softening when- oh shit. John sees it in the hunch of your shoulders. He flaps frantic hands at you.

“Karkat, wait, don’t-“

Your body convulses and you go wide-eyed— hand smacking into your face. You cough.

 _Hard_.

John’s dick basically rockets out of your ass as your body seizes up. Holy shit.

For a moment he does a scrabble, then crawls upright and pats at your back as you hack your way through it.

“Sorry,” you wheeze.

“That’s,” he goes. His face twists, crumples and he bursts out into loud guffaws of mirth. “Lucky we use a condom, dude, I think my cum would’ve been splattered all over the wall otherwise.”

You push a hand into his face and shove him back. “Shut up.” Your cheeks are hot with embarrassment. Urgh.

John grabs your hand and yanks you after him, making you cough again as you plop clumsily down. It hurts, your throat aches with the abuse. John tucks you against his front, folding you into the windbreaker with him. You sniffle miserable into his chest. 

“Have you noticed how you never have to cough during sex?” John wonders, crowning you with a kiss. “So weird.”

Huh.

That’s true.

“I think we should try again,” you mutter. “For science.”

John’s shoulders shake as he chuckles. “I think you should rest, stupid.”

“I’m not fucking tired,” you growl. Burrow deeper and manage a proper exhale.

You’re asleep before your eyes have slipped shut.

 


	6. John, Karkat - PG

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Too many johnkat feels halp.

“I’ve missed you,” he says. “I’ve missed you, I’ve missed you, I’ve missed you, I’ve missed you-“

It gets lost in your mouth, in your heart, settles into your skin as he clutches at you with shaking hands. You cradle his face and kiss him, just his lips, deep bursts of contact.  _I’m here_.  _I got you_.

You tell him this, pulling away to form the words, but as soon as you leave his mouth free he continues  _missedyoumissedyoumissedyoumissedyou_  this sibilant chant against your upper lip and you have to kiss him to quiet him down again. You’ve missed him, too. This is not going to get easier, something you’re going to get used to, the long spells of absence even if you talk to him everyday, usually even see him during.

You undress him and he tries to return the favor with uncoordinated hands. Only to give up as soon as your shirt comes off, pressing into you instead. Hooks an ankle around you, lifts his body up against yours, demanding.

It hurts and it is painful, a weird knowing not knowing relearning and rearranging every single time again, over and over and again, until  _stop_ , time to go (next time next time)— but you don’t give a bleeding fuck, not when you’ve got this armful of lean and wanting boy who’s looking at you as though you’re the only person on the whole planet that can put him back together simply by touching him, which you do, greedy handfuls of his body, tugging at slender thighs until they cradle around your hips.

“I’ve missed you,” he exhales as you trace a thumb along his swollen lips.

So you kiss him and kiss him and kiss him, lingering suckles that pull at his lips tender and parted until you can taste the inside of his mouth, kiss him some more after, kiss him until the both of you topple sideways with a clumsy ‘ _oomph_ ’ to land in a tangle of limbs, kiss him until you can feel him smile, faint and fleeting but caught against your lips.

“Missed you, too,” you murmur against the corner of his eye and  _there_ , he grins, wide and cheeky.

 

It gets worse every single damn time, but you wouldn’t give him up for the whole fucking world.

Sometimes happiness hurts. 


	7. John, Karkat - Explicit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was: Young Folks verse, johnkat, vacation, sex on the beach ;);)) (ahhh this just popped on my head, have to ask before i forget! And again congrats for the follow milestone :D)

“This isn’t going to work.”

You prop yourself onto an elbow. It seems to take enormous effort, every single one of your muscles gone slack and shivery. You end up flailing a little before you actually manage. “What do you mean, this isn’t going to work?” you demand, because seriously, you’re kinda ready to get fucked here. “Did you suddenly forget how to stick your dick in my ass? Do you need me to draw you a picture? Maybe a live demonstration? A government approved documentary?”

John’s already gently lowering your leg down from his shoulder, keeps it comfortably hooked over the swell of his thigh. His hands seem reluctant to release your hips. “It’ll be like sandpapering your colon, Karkat. There’s sand  _everywhere._ ”

“Whose fucking fault is  _that_ , I wonder,” you growl and flop back, frustrated. Spoiler; it’s his. John tackled you earlier.

 That’s how you wound up in the middle of the beach, sans shorts and on your back with your dick hard in the first place. Just some roughhousing at first, which was annoying more than anything, but having John shirtless and grinning above you as he pinned you down- yeah well. Asshole’s not wrong, is the problem. There’s sand itching where its caught in your pubes and there’s even more of it between your buttocks. You’ll probably shit a goddamn sandcastle if you take a dump later on. Urgh.

“We can go back to the tent?” John offers. His hair is mussed from your hands.

He looks great like that, kneeling between your legs with his cock stiff and his eyes on you. The relentless burn of the sun has turned his skin dark, painted a splatter of freckles across the bridge of his nose, the tops of his cheekbones. It’s ridiculously charming. You want to climb him like a goddamn tree.

“Let’s just go wash off,” you grumble. The offer is tempting, but seriously, at this rate your whole relationship will be just you and John forever fucking in tents (and wow, are you glad he can’t read your mind, or he’d be laughing his ass off -he  _still_  thinks that pun is hilarious).

John helps you stand, keeps fingers curled around yours as he drags you towards the glitter of the ocean. Your dick is still hard, you feel like a total tool walking around like that, but you’re light in your head and heavy in your groin and disappointed, a little, because well. Sex on the beach when the sun is sinking huge and bright and golden beyond the edge of the earth —that’s. Yeah. You kinda wanted that.

The cool bite of the water has your body tightening reflexively, but doesn’t do anything about your stupid cock. Not even John suddenly slamming into your back and nearly shoving you under helps -you snarl and elbow him, not in the mood for his playful teasing, but then his hand slips towards your front and grabs your dick.

Your knees buckle.

A second arm hooks around your ribcage, keeps you standing. You don’t even have it in you to protest, don’t want to, shit, he could shove you face-first into the wet sand and fuck you, you’re horny enough for it. He doesn’t, just pumps you slowly. 

You can feel the beat of his heart between your shoulder blades and the heat of his erection against your tailbone. John catches the edge of his teeth along your ear, slides the hand on your chest up until it’s resting against your throat. It’s vaguely threatening, enough pressure your pulse thrums against his palm. Your toes curl in the shifting sand.

“What if someone came and saw us?” he murmurs. Instinctively your eyes fly towards the beach, the dunes beyond, the rocky rise of the cliff. Nothing. John kisses the edge of your jaw. “Would you want me to stop?”

“If you stop I’ll set the damn tent on fire with you in it,” you snarl at him, then gasp as he grinds lazily against your ass. “I’ll toast marshmallows and la— _ah_.”

John snickers, because he’s a terrible little pisser. You really don’t know why you love this douchebag as much as you do. 

The sun is your eyes as John works at your dick steadily. He’s warm and ocean-fresh against your back. The water laps cool around your thighs, gentle rocking waves that help you sway into his grip. There’s the caw of gulls overhead, the sighs of the water and your harsh exhales punctuating the hitch of your hips. Your chest feels on fire.

“John, don’t-“ you grit out. Your voice sounds high and panicky. Both your hands are clutching at the arm around your chest.

“I won’t,” he assures you and you moan, long and deep, because the pad of his thumb has found the drop of pre-come at the head and is slicking it against your frenum. All the muscles in your body jump into sharp relief, your back hollows as you rise up into his touch. 

And then he lets go. Just a second, but he lets go, and you dig your nails into his skin to stop from shattering. You think you break a little anyway, but then he’s back. Cups as much of your dick as he can, presses you hard up against you own belly and moves down, kneading the tip of your cock with the heel of his hand.

You come with a cry, pitching forward in his arms and curling around and over your orgasm like it’s a bullet to the stomach. 

John’s just hugging you to him, making sure you don’t get a mouthful of salty water and by the time you’re done being a limp and shaking mess in his arms, you can feel him start to flex against your back. You reach behind you and get a hand in his hair, pull at it until he gives you his mouth from over your shoulder. It’s sideways-open-sloppy, licking into the seam of his lips and suckling at his bottom lip.

John fucks himself to completion with a hand spread over your belly and the other clawing at your shoulder, letting out this gorgeous throaty noise as he comes in a rush of wet heat against your lower back. You’re still aching from your own orgasm, but your dick manages a little jump of interest at how he opens his mouth against the corner of yours and his nails scour across your abdomen. 

There’s a minute of silence where John goes soft and vulnerable, face tucked against the side of your neck as he pieces himself back together -god, you love that. 

John goes: “Hm.” Laughs punch-drunk and giddy into your skin.

“Hm,” you go back, massaging fingers through his hair as you lean into him. “Can’t take you anywhere, can I.”

“You were the one who wanted to fuck with a bucket of sand up his ass, not me,” he points out, then cracks up some more and begins to hum  _Sex on the Beach_  under his breath.

“Time to go!” You wrench away, trudging against the friction of the water towards the beach. 

John follows after you snickering.

Of course, you should have known that  _one_ : he hid your swim shorts and  _two_ : his spunk is plastered all over your back. 


	8. Dave, Jade -Explicit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was: DaveJade, piercing. ;D

“Dave! Dave! Are you ready?”

“You have no idea how ready I am, Jade,” you answer, tugging your belt through the loops of your jeans with a showy flick-and-a-snap. “So ready.”

“Hella ready?” she goes and it is one hundred percent lisp-free. 

“Readier.” 

In fact, you’re so ready you hope your heat-seeking moisture missile doesn’t launch its load prematurely. Then again, it’s been nearly two months since you got to stick your dick in anything, least of all your girlfriend, on account of your joyprong having acquired some bling. Apadravya -go hard or go home (actually it hurt like a bitch and you squeezed Jade’s hand so hard it was blue for like three days). 

Not that you haven’t been poppin’ boners left and right, shit’s still functional. It’s possible you could’ve fucked with a condom, but you wanted to be really,  _really_  sure. Extra sure. This is your passion pistol after all. You’re very fond of it. Lots of good memories. You’re about to make some more.

“Tissues?” Jade prompts.

“Got them!”

“Washcloth?” 

“Present.”

“Snacks and energy drinks?” 

“Right here.”

“Hot boyfriend?”

“Locked and loaded.”

Jade smiles, wide and brilliant and okay, damn, you go a little gooey and needy because that’s your girl and she’s opening her arms for you and her boobs are soft and she got her tongue pierced and you’re finally going to get laid again hot diggity, hallelujah and praises be!

You both took a day off for this. You locked John out of the apartment for this (sorry bro, all’s fair in love and war (no, you don’t feel guilty you did it so you could fuck his sister into a squealing mess of delight)).

And now, the dilemma: suck or fuck? Thank Obama for Jade, who plants her hands on your chest and shoves you towards the bed. You plop down obligingly and your Veinous Maximus does a happy little bob in the air. Twinkle goes the piercing. It’s the perfect anime sparkle, you’re so proud. Jade settles between your legs, nips playfully at your stomach.

“You ready?” she murmurs, wagging her brows. Curls her tongue along her lips, showing off the neon green barbell sitting on her tongue.

Whoa. Okay. Your throat locks up and your dicks jumps eagerly, tapping Jade against her chin (hi, Jade, hi! Boy I sure missed you). Who smiles indulgently and kisses the tip. Dainty and sweet, before parting her lips -again the flash of green- and sinking down. The lock of her mouth around you is brilliant wet heat, the piercing a prick of bright contact as she lifts her tongue to drag it against your shaft.

Your knuckles go white as you grab at the sheets. That feels- oh god. That really feels- whoa mama. That feels- wait.

“Uh,” you crack an eye open. “Jade?”

She goes. “Hmmm.”

You shift. Jade stays on your dick. Some drool drips down your balls. It’s not very sexy. “Jade, darling, babe, hummingbird?”

“Hm?”

“You’re stuck on my dick, aren’t you?”

“Hmmmm-mm!”

“Shit.”

(John comes home four hours later. You have to manoeuvre towards the door to let him in. John cries a little. You don’t blame him.)


	9. Karkat, Gamzee, Sollux - PG

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was: YF prompt: Karkat, Sollux, & Gamzee bake a cake?

**_HOUR 1:_ **

“No.”

“I’m not exactly wetting my panties in joy here, either, Captor, but that’s what he wants to do.”

“Who cares?”

“It’s his fucking birthday you limp lisping sack of failure. I realize that asking you to detach your mouldy husk from your chair is not unlike dumping blind puppies into a minefield in terms of outcome and productivity, but maybe, just maybe, you could suck it up and play nice?”

“No.” 

 

**_HOUR 2:_ **

“Right up decent from you to come and join me in the creatin’ of this chocolately motherfucking miracle.”

“I’m a nice that way.”

“You should be ashamed of yourself.”

“Don’t be like that, KK. That attitude has no place in the kitchen. Play nice for once.”

“I would rather gently insert sea urchins up my ass than play nice with you, you bag of mashed asshole. Now hand me that spatula.”

 

**_HOUR 3:_ **

"Wow. Get this idiot a medal. You truly are incompetent, KK. It says: crack the egg. Not: crush that fucker in a fit of childish rage. Look at GZ, he’s doing it like a pro.”

“Shut up.”

“All you be needin’ is a tap, like you’re a-knocking on the little guy’s door, all round like one of them hobbit houses, but they go crack and out comes motherfucking sunshiny yellow goodness. Nothing to it, best friend. Looksee? Now you again.”

“Shut up. Give me that- no, let me! I can fucking- ah  _SHIT_.”

“… yeah I’m not cleaning that up.”

 

**_HOUR 4:_ **

“I’ll go get the fire extinguisher.”

“You do that.”

“Motherfuck.”


	10. Jade, Dave - R

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was: I wish you'd write ... more Dave/Jade, because you've got their interactions down so well, the seriousness inseparable from the playfulness. Also, the Young Folks D/S was hot as scorching.

“Well!” Jade demands, hands on her hips and back hollowing. “Say something!”

There’s only one word revving for take-off on the tip of your tongue and like hell you’re giving that little rebel clearance for immediate vocalisation. Surely there’s some dignity left to you. Somewhere. Anywhere. Please.

But anyway.  
Boobs. Breasts. Bosom. Bazongas. Boobers. Bazooms. Bazookas. Breasticles. Baps. Bubatoes. 

Hooters. Mammeries. Knockers. Rack. Cans. Jugs. Titties. Chesticles. Honkers. Tatas. Wazoos.

Mother. Fucking. BOOBIES.

Dignity. You have that shit under control. Total lockdown, security tighter than a bull’s ass at fly time. Nipple clamps attached to that bitch, it ain’t—oh, sugar honey ice tea, why did you think about nipples?

Boobs usually have nipples. You knew that. The internet is for porn la-dee-da and oh hey look, you have a pair of those yourself (nipples not boobs, more’s the shame). So yeah. Boobs and nipples. And those right there are your girlfriend’s and by default the best boobs 5eva. It’s not like it’s such a shock they’re like, attached to Jade or anything, but it’s the first time you’re beholding them in their full naked glory and can you just say  _hallelujah_?

Jade’s. Boobs.

Damn.

“Dave.”

What do you do?! If you’d known she’d be whipping her shirt off like that you’d have… moisturised your hands or something. Got them all prepped and smoother than a baby’s ass so you can pap those girls with the silkiest of palms.

“Dave.”

You’d have prepared a rap.

“ ** _DAVE_**.”

“Yes, this is him,” you answer automatically.

“Are you just going to sit there and stare all day, cause that’s kind of super boring!” she pouts.

“Sorry babe, I’m just calculating my angle of attack here, you know, making sure we’ll establish optimal palm-to-areola contact and all, you really can’t rush this—hiiii-hhheeeeeeeeeeees—”

Your hand is on her breast. Houston we have a lift off. 

“There,” Jade announces, smug as you please, tan fingers still curled firmly around your wrist. “First contact established.”

Something is making a teakettle sound. You cough, thump your chest with your freehand, the high pitched whistling stops. Wasn’t me. “It’s off centre,” you squeak. “I told you we needed to consider the angle for this enterprise before engaging.”

“It is not.”

“Yes it is, you nipple is like, stuck in the, er, nook of my index and middle finger, the interdigital flappy skin thing,” and per demonstration you shift those two fingers together, plucking at her ever so slightly.

Jade makes this gasp, this  _noise_  that ever so softly throbs with a moan and your albino asparagus springs to attention at whiplash inducing speed. Like striking a match in your freaking jeans, shit, it’s a miracle your crotch didn’t catch on fire. 

Soft. Heavy, surprisingly so when you palm her properly, the undersize of her tit pressing fully against the heel of your hand. She’s smiling at you, her eyes bright through the dark fringe of her lashes, teeth tugging at her lower lip as you swipe your thumb along the curve of her breast.

Jade always looks at you like the world begins and ends in your eyes and she’s the motherfucking overlord of Planet Dave, has colonised the hell out of your heart and has planted a flag in your soul -she is, she is, she fucking is, she could walk all over you and you’d  _thank_  her (you want that, why do you actually want that).

(if you cream your skinny jeans from touching a boob you’ll never forgive yourself)

Ever so gently you frame her nipple between your thumb and index and it tightens, going nice and hard, ngh, you roll it under the pad of your thumb. Your jerkin’ gherkin is so hard it’s going to pop off, god you ache, how is she so. fucking. beautiful.

You shuffle forward on your knees, interlocking your thighs with hers so you can get nice and close. She smells nice. Jade.  _Jade_. You bump her forehead with hers. “Hey,” you whisper, voice gruff with emotion.

“Hi!” she grins, even waggles a wave at you with her fingers. You crack up, god this girl.

“Your boobs are very pretty,” you tell her and damn if that isn’t the straightest truth you ever did lay down.

“Thank you,” she bobs her head graciously, kisses your nose. You’re blushing so hard the freshly kissed patch of skin prickles against the chill air as she draws back.

Long black hair spills over her shoulders, you brush it away with your freehand so you can lay down a row of kisses, from the flex of muscle downwards, across her collarbone and towards the swell of her breast. Really, you intend to suck on her nipple, pull it into your mouth and work at the stiff peak with your tongue, make her feel good and gasp your name and hopefully pull on your hair a little, but what happens instead is that you just sort of… faceplant into her bosom and stay there to hide your shame.

Goddammit.

Whyyyyyy. You’re a nineteen year old horny dude. You’ve done the do. You have fornicated. Danced the horizontal hula. You tamed the beast with two backs, dammit. Why can’t you…

Arms come up around your shoulders, squishing you firmer into her bosom. Mrph. Yes. Acceptable. You will stay here forever and probably choke to death but hey, what a way to go, you’ll take it, please punch my ticket officer I have failed my male duty, brodudes all over the world just felt a cold shiver down their spine.

“No sex today?” Jade asks softly, lips mouthing the question against the crest of your head.

“Sorry,” you mumble. This is stupid. You are stupid. Your Homo Erectus is one hundred percent ready to get some romantic stargazing done on your back and yet here you are, chickening out.

Her mouth brushes along your forehead fleetingly, hair spilling along the sides of your face as she curls over you, curtaining you away. “Don’t be sorry, sillybutt, I can wait,” she murmurs.

“Hrmp,” you go, discontent, and accidentally motorboat her.

Jade giggles. Everything jiggles. HOO-LEE-SHITE boob lambada against your face this is the best thing  _ever_  you are never leaving again, here lies Dave Strider, he died a happy man in the titocalypse.

“Besides,” Jade muses, scritching your scalp like you’re the squishy-faced cat of evil plotting and she’s got nefarious plans for stealing the moon on the mind. “I have toys.”

You just about hack up a lung between her breasts. Jade just pats your back as you wheeze: there, there, Dave. “You could watch,” she offers, cheerful. 

 

You totally cream your pants anyway.

Eh. You’ll take it.


End file.
